The Last Mission of the Living (The Last Bastion #2)(92)

“Got them,” Franklin grunted.

More blood filled the water until all he saw was red. Then he was free of the grasping digits.

“Stealth on,” he choked out. “And let’s get the hell out of here.”





Chapter 27


Pulling her body slowly out of the water, Lindsey sagged as gravity dragged her to the flagstones on the bank. The weight of her body, armor and weapons made it hard to move at first, but then her muscles remembered their purpose and she yanked her legs out of the water. On hands and knees, she inched along the edge of the river. It was unsettling to see her hands and arms melding into her surroundings, only given away by quivering around the edges. Reaching a stairway that lead to the street, she hunkered beside it.

Without the constant influx of information onto her helmet screen, Lindsey was disoriented. The only feed she was receiving was from the armor of her companions. The dots on her locator indicated they were drawing closer to her location. With her own eyes, she barely made out their wavering forms against the backdrop of the river.

Meanwhile, the Scrags screeched and thrashed in the water as they continued to search for prey in the churning waves.

“They think we’re still in the water.” Torran lowered his voice even though his external helmet speakers were off and he was on the general comm.

His earlier confession still didn’t seem real, but Lindsey trusted he was telling the truth. The squad had been murdered in order to strand her and force her to reach out to Maria. Yet how did Torran know? Certainly not before the crash. He would have never allowed Hobbes and the others to die, or allowed her to be in a doomed aircraft. Which meant...

Closing her eyes, Lindsey shuddered as she realized Franklin had betrayed her. It had to be the other survivor, yet why would Franklin say anything to Torran? Was it because he was SWD? That didn’t make sense, since Franklin was Constabulary. Lindsey’s head hurt, and she wanted nothing more than to press her fingertips to her temples. If only she could have a second or two to gather her thoughts, she’d figure out what was going on and be able to plan.

Pounding footsteps on the stairs next to her pulled her attention up. Scrags were flowing down the stairwell from the street. Clearly, the creatures were drawn by the commotion of the Scrags splashing in the water. Breath catching in her throat, Lindsey clutched her weapon tighter as the undead streamed toward the river. Fearfully, she searched for Torran and Franklin. She barely saw the disruption of their suits as they darted out of the way of the oncoming rush. The suits started to fluctuate as the helmet cameras attempted to adjust the image the suits were projecting to maintain their stealth.

“Don’t move!” Lindsey cried out. “I can almost see you.”

The dots on her screen froze in place.

“If they bump us, they’ll know we’re here,” Franklin rasped.

“Hold your position,” Torran ordered. “Let the suits adjust.”

Squatting against the side of the stairwell, Lindsey set her back against the wall and aimed her weapon at the filthy undead beings. The virus preserved their almost life-like appearance, yet their clothes were mere scraps, their hair a tangled mess, and their bodies were covered in years of muck. Their screaming mouths and wild eyes were nightmarish in their inhumanity. Lindsey gulped, fighting the tremors in her hands. The soldiers were so vulnerable in their position, only hidden by suits that would soon have to recharge.

A Scrag struck one of the soldiers, spinning them both about. On her screen, it indicated that the soldier was Torran. Lindsey sucked air through her teeth, trying not to cry out and make the situation worse by distracting him. The Scrag twisted about, clearly looking for what it had hit. Letting out terrifying shrieks, the male Scrag with a ratty gray beard and bald head stretched out its hands, seeking possible prey. The suits of both soldiers briefly flashed as the projected images again attempted to adjust. Torran was on the ground, and Franklin was barely a few inches from the Scrag. The other undead continued into the water, drawn by the wildly howling and splashing Scrags, but it would take just one creature identifying new prey to draw their attention to the shore again.

“Don’t move,” Torran whispered. “Franklin, stay still.”

“He’s almost touching me,” she answered sounding close to panic.

“If you move, he’ll see you,” Torran responded.

“I have you covered,” Lindsey promised. “If he touches you, duck.”

“You fire, Rooney, and they’ll be on us in seconds,” Torran reminded her.

The stream of Scrags coming down the stairs was now a trickle, and most of the herd was in the river. They were so agitated, they were fighting with each other.

“We’ll make a run for it,” Lindsey answered. “They’ll have to get out of the water.”

The male Scrag swiped at the air again, eyes wide and searching. Franklin held her position, but her breath was ragged. Torran remained on the ground behind her, unmoving as the final few Scrags dashed into the river churning with the flailing bodies of the undead.

The Scrag took a slight step toward Franklin and wildly lashed out. From the slight wavering in the air, it looked like Franklin dodged under his arms.

“He almost had me!”

“I have an idea,” Torran said. “Franklin, when I tell you, shove him backward. We’ll toss him into the river.”